A Mistake He Never Regret

Elara was curious as to how Reynand knew that Agatha had used rose petals in her milk skincare—and how he'd noticed that her fragrance purse was empty. 

Yet if she were to ask, she'd be forced to admit her deception, and then have to explain why she had lied.

Reynand looked into her eyes with a disappointed gaze, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as he recalled the moment he'd caught her from above, carefully pouring the contents of her fragrance purse into the ceramic pitcher. 

He found her utterly adorable, and he couldn't help but wonder why she'd hastily emptied her purse, only for him to discover that she had deceived him.

"You shall see for yourself how you appear at this moment. How did I know? Don't you wish to ask me that? Or perhaps, you never truly cared what I think or know at all," Reynand chuckled bitterly.

Elara frowned. "That's… that's not true, Your Grace. I…" she stammered, quickly averting her gaze.

"You have changed so much, wife. I never expected you could lie so easily to my face."

His lowered gaze and heavy sigh dug into her chest, guilt coiling within her. But would he even believe her if she told him? About the letters, about the Seer Nuntius' warning.

The way his disappointment cut through her like a blade made her stomach twist. It wasn't fair—he thought she was lying merely to deceive him. But how could she tell him the truth when that very truth might get him killed? Might get her daughter killed?

"Would it not be strange if I had not changed after four years in this castle, Your Grace?"

"Surely it would. But lying is not a trait one ought to adopt," Reynand scoffed.

"You asked me before you left for the war how someone as naïve as I could survive without you, did you not?"

"Will you justify lying as the only means to survive here—even with me?"

"If it's a white lie, I will gladly do so. You see, here I am—I survive, thanks to your advice to not easily trust anyone…" Elara paused, weighing her next words. "Not even you. Even if I wished to trust you, how could I? You were not here."

Reynand's bitter laughter echoed down the passage hall as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"So you lied because you can't trust me? You took the advice like a good girl." He rested a hand on his waist and tapped his left foot. "But you do have a point—we never really got to know each other, did we? Perhaps… I'm changing too." 

Reynand realised that something within him had shifted because of Elara. 

He fixed his gaze on her for a moment. He could not simply accept her defence—even if it were true. In his former self, he might not have cared whether she lied to him or not. 

But now, merely knowing that Elara flinched around him—uneasy, perhaps even afraid—made him want to punch a wall.

"I didn't mean to lie to you—I…"

"Keep lying!"

Elara was taken aback, blinking in surprise. "Pardon me, Your Grace?"

"I won't force you to tell me the truth if you don't want to. You may keep lying until… I earn your trust."

"Your Grace… Wh—what do you mean?" Her hand trembled as Reynand drew ever closer. She wanted to retreat, but he gently yet firmly pulled her arm, holding her in place before leaning in near her ear.

"But do take care not to be caught. Every time I catch you lying, I shall give you a gift that will leave your mind reeling, so you shall regret deceiving me." He brushed his lips lightly against her ear and whispered, "That day when I called our first night a mistake—that was… a mistake I—never regret."

Reynand pulled back, his gaze locking onto Elara's wide, hollow eyes—like a deer caught in its predator's gaze. "That's your first gift, wife," he smirked.

Elara felt her heart pounding in her ears after his whisper. 'What does he mean?' her mind spun. 

She wanted to ask, but her tongue was tied and her words caught in her throat. Her hand trembled, nearly letting the ceramic pitcher slip—if not for Reynand's steadying grip.

"Be careful. Are you all right?" Reynand asked, his voice as gentle as birdsong over a tranquil river, mesmerising her.

Elara drew back at the unexpected touch on the pitcher when Reynand's hand steadied hers—like she'd been jolted by a bee, but without the pain.

"I—I… am fi—" she stuttered.

"Reynand…" A soft yet firm voice cut in, drawing her attention towards the staircase. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you both." Trisha's ebony hair flowed beautifully as she came to a halt.

Earlier that day, Trisha's masculine aura shone through in her battle attire. Yet tonight, with her long black hair cascading freely and a pale blue satin nightdress layered beneath a sheepskin coat, her feminine princess charm was equally striking. Elara had never seen a woman embody such contrasting auras.

"Why? Do you require something?" Reynand, his smirk gone, asked flatly.

"I need to speak with you," Trisha said, glancing at Elara. "I've just received news from my father about…" She deliberately left her sentence unfinished, her darting eyes towards Elara signalled that this was a matter for her and Reynand alone.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"I wish it could, but I must send the pigeon messenger back straight away," Trisha insisted.

"I shall go back to my chamber, Your Grace. You both may speak freely." Elara bowed her head slightly before turning to Trisha. "Good night, Princess Trisha." Then, hurrying towards her quarters, she stumbled briefly before disappearing around a corner—a sight that brought a slight smile to Reynand's face.

Elara's cheeks flushed in step with the warmth spreading over her face from Reynand's earlier whisper. Standing behind the chamber door, she watched Agatha sleeping soundly. 

With trembling hands, she set the ceramic pitcher on the buffet. As she moved to sit beside Agatha on the bed, a small basin of milk and rose petals caught her eye at the side of the bed.

'So, that's how he knew. Was he here?' Elara wrestled with her thoughts as she gently stroked Agatha's hair. Reynand's words still echoed in her ears, her heart pounding in response.

What she had long believed to be a curse—a burden of guilt for fearing she might add to Reynand's troubles—apparently wasn't the case. For him, that first night wasn't a mistake.

'Wait… No… He said it was a mistake he never regrets. So, is it a mistake or not?' Elara shook her head, covering her face with both hands. 

Though shocked by Reynand's words, a warm relief stirred within her, yet uncertainty about his true intent still lingered.

If only she could turn back time, she'd confess that the milk in the ceramic pitcher was meant for her, not Agatha.

Elara lay down beside Agatha, pulling up her soft woollen blanket and gently patting the child's chest.

'Can he accept her without seeing her as a mistake? Can he love her as deeply as I do? Can I trust him and tell him everything?'

In a brief moment, the image of Agatha greeting Reynand with her endearing charm blurred her restless thoughts. 

Her eyelids grew heavy with sleep, yearning to rest her body—or perhaps when she closed her eyes, hoping the long day had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.